


make no mistake of the troubles we've had

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Malex Week 2020, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Alex isn't used to hot cowboys hitting on him at the Wild Pony. That's what he's blaming his temporary break in sanity on when he bails one out, after the cowboy got arrested in the middle of writing his phone number on Alex's arm.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 70
Kudos: 229
Collections: Malex Week 2020





	make no mistake of the troubles we've had

**Author's Note:**

> Every single day of Malex Week fics have been lovingly and amazingly beta'ed by the fabulous Crystal (islndgrl777) and I owe her so many thanks. The titles for all days is from We Were Young by The Strumbellas. 
> 
> Day 1: Meet Ugly.

It’s a miracle, honestly, that Alex is being hit on.

He’s attractive, he’s smart, he’s funny. That said, he’s sitting in the Wild Pony and that’s typically a local bar, not the kind of place where Alex gets hit on. If he wants that kind of attention, he has to head out to Planet 7 and deal with neon body paint, sticky sweet shots, and leering tourists. It’s not exactly his idea of a good time, which is why he comes to the Wild Pony instead, where Maria gets him free drinks at the Pony, and he’s learned not to expect any flirtatious come-ons.

But tonight, a miracle has been bestowed on him.

“Damn,” says a voice beside him. “Is the scenery here always so nice?”

Alex ignores it, figuring it’s some asshole hitting on some of the girls nearby. He keeps nursing his beer, not paying any attention to the awkward hetero-mating rituals that go on in Roswell.

At least, he ignores it until the same voice again says, “What? Am I not even worth the look?”

Alex turns to see a _gorgeous_ guy staring at him, looking mildly offended. He’s a bit rough around the edges, with dust on his cowboy boots and a t-shirt that’s seen better days, but the threadbare t-shirt is also the reason Alex is getting very nice hints of what lurks beneath. The man keeps pushing back errant curls from his forehead, strong hands splayed as curls fall between them. It splits Alex’s attention between letting his gaze slide over the man’s legs and keeping his attention on the hands. He decides to multitask, letting his gaze slip to his strong thighs, then to his hands, and imagines being pressed up against the alley wall outside the Pony with those hands grabbing his face. 

He swallows back his need and adjusts the way he’s sitting to hide any sudden interest. “Uh,” he manages. “Hi?”

“Hey,” the guy responds warmly, gesturing to the seat beside him. “That one taken?”

Alex shakes his head, eager to have the company of someone who actually _wants_ to talk to him. From the way that the guy is staring at him, it’s not just because he needs a friend in town. God, he hopes it’s more than him just wanting a friend in town. 

It’s been one hell of a dry spell, which had been expected when he came home, but reality still sucks even when held up against low expectations.

“You new in town?”

Alex shrugs, laughing softly. “More like, the prodigal son returns,” he says wryly, as if he could ever compare himself when he’s far from his father’s favorite child. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back. I’m not used to this level of friendliness from another guy outside of Planet 7,” he admits bluntly, hoping to get to the point. “This isn’t some elaborate trick to get me outside so you can beat me up?”

“That’s not what I want to do to you outside,” he says in a low voice, almost like he can read Alex’s mind about what they could get up to in the alley. He leans towards Alex, sharing his space, as he stares at his mouth. “The Pony’s not the best place for that, though, huh,” he admits, with a soft breath.

“Not unless a bar fight is your idea of foreplay.”

Curls looks like he wouldn’t be opposed to it, but he seems to concede it’d be a bad idea with a nod. He gnaws at his lower lip, eyes half-lidded, and glances up to where movement passes them behind the bar. It’s Maria, handing off beers to the girls standing on the other side of Alex, but Michael reaches out to rap on the bar in front of her to get her attention. She rolls her eyes, which Alex knows means that she’s probably refraining from dropping something heavy on his knuckles.

“Sharpie, please?”

Maria looks from Alex back to Curls, then back to Alex, but she doesn’t seem too surprised. She hands out the sharpie to the curly-haired god, but doesn’t let him seize it until she turns to Alex. “You okay with this?”

Wordlessly, Alex nods, wondering how much he’s missed in the last decade here in Roswell. If nothing else, he’s missed a hot guy moving to town who drinks at the Pony, knows Maria, and wants to flirt with Alex. 

“Uh,” he manages, wondering if Maria is really asking him if he doesn’t want a hot guy’s attention, “yeah.”

“You heard him,” Curls says, and pries the sharpie from her before reaching for Alex’s hand, gently turning it so that his palm is laying flat on the bar while he uncaps the sharpie with his teeth, holding the cap in his mouth. He leans in and starts to ink his skin with numbers, taking time to write every digit so that it’s impeccably clear.

There won’t be any wrong numbers here tonight.

“Ticklish, huh?” Curls murmurs when Alex flinches a little as the phone number starts traversing up to the inside of his upper arm, five digits in and begins to feel like a tattoo. 

Alex opens his mouth to tell him that no one’s touched him like this in a very long time.

He doesn’t get the chance before all hell breaks loose. 

“Hands on the bar, Guerin! Don’t move. You’re under arrest.” 

His curly-haired god groans and gives Alex an apologetic look, the sharpie dragging over Alex’s skin as it goes clattering to the ground. His hands rise up as he turns towards the bar, bending over it while two officers come inside to cuff him, reading him his rights. 

“Hey!” Maria shouts. “You’re gonna hear about this,” she warns the cops. From the way she’s furiously glaring, Alex gets the sense that they’ve betrayed an existing agreement. She gives Guerin a sigh that’s paired with a worried look. “Guerin, what the hell did you get yourself into this time?”

The locals look gleeful, with some of them recording it on their phones, which makes Alex’s anger rise, furious that the local assholes haven’t changed in the last ten years that he’s been gone. 

Watching Curls (or, Guerin, by the sounds of it) get dragged away, he turns a helpless look on Maria.

“He was hitting on me!” he protests, staring at his arm where his number isn’t finished. “I was getting his number. Maria, did I just get hit on by some low-life asshole?”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Guerin might like a bar fight or two, but he’s no criminal,” she insists. “He just likes picking fights with the kind of idiots who will make up bullshit to get him hauled in. Again,” she says, sighing as she gets her cell phone. “I’ll text his sister to go get him.”

“No,” Alex says suddenly. 

Maria lowers her phone, giving him a wary look. “No? I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, I did. I do,” he says, carefully getting to his feet so he doesn’t fall over. “I’ll bail him out.”

“You will, huh?”

Alex’s cheeks are aflame, but he ignores it with a muttered, “Shut up,” as his ears start matching the color of his cheeks. He palms his keys, grateful that he didn’t drink too much. 

It takes every instinct not to trip the assholes on the way out, but he does the next best thing. When he’s close, he staggers slightly, making it look like he hasn’t been able to balance himself. In the process, he grabs at the arms of the guy holding the phone that has the recording of Guerin getting arrested.

The _splash_ as it falls into a pitcher of beer is wildly satisfying.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, assh…”

The guy’s voice shrivels up as Alex bends to lift his pant-leg, revealing the prosthetic, glancing up like it was absolutely and totally a mistake. “I’m still getting used to it,” he says, without a shred of apology in his tone. “I guess when you get blown up fighting for your country, they don’t send you home with tips about how to navigate the floor at the local bar, huh?” He stares down the guy, challenging him to say something.

“It’s…” He swallows, throat clicking, and it must be burning him up, but he goes on, “...fine,” he chokes out.

Alex smiles like he just made a best friend, hiding his loathing for him behind his teeth. 

“Great,” he says, and winks at Maria on his way out, appreciating the way she’s hiding her laughter behind a bar rag. 

It’s not a long drive to the station, but still gives Alex plenty of time to wonder what the hell he’s doing. He just met the guy, he could be getting arrested for a legitimate offense, but there are two numbers missing from Alex’s arm and he hates the incomplete feeling of it all.

Even if Guerin was arrested for a real crime, Alex needs to know.

Plus, Maria wouldn’t lend a sharpie to just anyone, especially not a common criminal. 

The deputy at the desk tells him that the man he’s looking for, the Guerin in question, is Michael. They also tell him that he’s been arrested on suspicion of making drugs, but that the charges aren’t likely to hold up once they head out to his property and do a little more digging, but one of the deputies got eager and hauled him in for the night.

“It’s two hundred and fifty, but once he’s bailed, I doubt he’ll be back here,” the woman says. Cameron, he thinks, a new deputy who also served if he recalls the information download he got from Maria earlier in the night. 

Alex nods and digs out his wallet, digging out some big bills, putting down a few fifties and twenties, having withdrawn cash for a paintball trip with his friends from the service tomorrow. It looks like he’ll need to hit the ATM again.

Cameron gives him an amused look once the last bill has been put down.

“You and Guerin friends or something?”

“Or something,” Alex says, feeling like that covers it, tucking away the receipt that she hands him. She instructs him to follow her, leading him into the depths of the jail cells. He’s starting to wonder if this is a mistake, but then she leads him into the drunk tank area and he sees Guerin through the window as she lets him in. 

It hits like a current of electricity. There it is again -- that need and the connection that he felt earlier.

It’s all still there. 

“Good luck,” Cameron says and gestures for Alex to go talk to him, “I’ll go get the keys.”

Alex prepares himself with a few deep breaths, like he’s going into battle.

Then, before he’s ready if he’s honest, he grabs the door handle and strolls inside, looking at the way Michael is sprawled out. Alex forces himself to _attempt_ decency and not let his mind wander to _inappropriate_ places, but it’s a struggle. 

“You’re lucky I carry around enough for bail money.”

Michael’s head pops up from where the uncomfortable-looking bench in the cell. “Bar guy?”

“Alex,” he says, smiling ruefully at him. He just spent two-hundred-and-fifty dollars bailing out a guy who didn’t even know his name, all because he really wanted to get his phone number. He knows the arrest should have dissuaded him, but Alex is a sucker for punishment sometimes. “Wanna tell me why you got locked up?”

Michael scoffs as he lets his head fall back against the metal bench with a _thud_. “Stupid misunderstanding.”

“They said drugs.”

“They’re idiots,” Michael immediately replies. “I was painting my truck, I got paint on the windows. Acetone gets it off, and propanone is a key element in it. Some asshole I got into a bar fight with last week called the cops saying I had drugs on my property, so they do a soil sample, and suddenly, I’m a meth head despite having _no_ cooking material in my possession. Fucking Wyatt Long,” he gripes.

It’s looking like Alex _can_ trust him, if he takes him at his word.

In fact, his vitriol against Long is working in his favor, seeing as Wyatt Long spent a lot of years during high school making Alex’s life a living hell. 

“How come I’ve never met you before?” Alex wonders. He’s been out of town for the last ten years on assignments around the world, but he’d remember this guy. 

“Didn’t move here until after I finished my degree at UNM and decided to get closer to my family,” he says, eyes sliding over Alex’s body from behind the bars. “I’m an agricultural engineer,” he supplies. “I work on the ranches nearby upgrading their equipment and beating up assholes in my spare time.” He puts the heels of his boots to the ground and pushes to his feet to cross the space and hold onto the bars. “Alex,” he says, like he’s testing out his name. “Why haven’t you been around?”

“Three tours overseas and only got sent home when I lost part of my leg,” he says, bending down to give the prosthetic a light rap, wondering if that’s going to change things.

Michael reaches out through the bars and slides his fingers to Alex’s arm, where the sharpie drags off, the last two numbers of his phone number missing. The touch makes Alex shiver from where Michael’s fingers hover at sensitive skin. He gives him a rueful grin and stares at him, eyes half-lidded and clearly still interested despite Alex announcing that he’s three-quarters of a man.

“Seven, five.”

Alex frowns, not sure what that means.

“What?”

“The last two numbers of my phone number. Seven, five. I’d write them down, but they took away my sharpie,” he quips. 

Alex stands back as someone arrives to unlock the door. Michael draws his arms out as he steps to the side, winking when the deputy tells him that he can go and they’ll be by his property to look for evidence, telling him that he’s likely in the clear. 

“Behave,” Cameron insists. “Stop giving Long reasons to call in this shit.” She heads to the edge of the room, not leaving, but leaning against the wall like she’s waiting for them to clear out.

Instead of quickly getting out of there, Michael steps forward and lingers on the other side of the cell bars, like he wants to spend a little more time with Alex. 

“How much was bail again?”

“Two-fifty,” Alex says.

Michael nods thoughtfully. “Cool,” he says. “If dinner for two is around forty bucks in this town, that means six point two five dates.” He steps away from the cell, licking his lower lip as he stares at Alex intently. “We can debate what a quarter of a date entails later, if you’re still cool with going on a date with a local criminal.”

“Really? Because I heard he’s an agricultural engineer who beats up asshole bigots in his spare time.” 

The way Michael grins in response to that is like the sun’s come out of the clouds. Alex feels blinded by it, encouraged by it, and he turns to ask Cameron for a pen. She raises her brows at Michael, then hands Alex a ballpoint pen. He extends his arm and writes in ‘seven, five’ and then puts six ticks on the back of his palm.

“Gonna hold you accountable to this,” Alex informs him. “And I can’t wait to find out what a quarter of a date looks like.” He sets the pen back on the table, trying not to take his eyes off Michael. Holding onto his gaze, he digs out his phone and plugs in the number, naming him ‘Curls’ and sending him his first text.

_next time, just text me your number_

Michael’s phone buzzes nearby from the table where his belt buckle and his other items sit. It’s amazing, because Alex thought Michael was handsome before, but the reckoning he has upon seeing Michael smile _again_ is another thing completely. 

He’s _glowing_ , almost ethereal in his glee, and Alex knows that he’d made the right choice in coming here. 

“Come on,” Michael encourages. “Let me start working that debt off. I got beers at my house and a really comfortable couch that we both deserve after tonight.” He slides his belt buckle into the loops of his jeans, tugging on his denim jacket. “And I might not put out on the first date, but I wanna leave a lot more than just ink marks on you.”

 _Miracle_ , Alex reminds himself, feeling light-headed and eager as he follows Michael out of the station. 

And tomorrow, along with sharpie and pen, Alex will have teeth marks bruising his skin, all thanks to the brash charisma of one man daring to pick him up at the Wild Pony.


End file.
